The Prompt Fic of Mischief
by Sabulum Procella
Summary: A collection of ficlets in the Avengers fandom, containing an overabundance of Loki. — "Sometimes Steve gets this lost look, and Tony doesn't like it. So he decides to fix it." Oneshot. Retro diners. Bromance. Stony-ish.
1. Hulk Confused

A combination of Camp NaNoWriMo and Avengers-fever have resulted in this collection of ficlets! Ranging in length from 100 to 10,000, with a wide variety of genres and pairings; based on prompts, challenges, dares, sentences, or the occasional random plot bunny; featuring an abundance of Tom Hiddleston, and almost as much crack as there is angst! Welcome to…

**The Prompt Fic of MISCHIEF!**

**Title:** Hulk Confused**  
****Genre:** Humor  
**Rating:** T (for crack and minor language)  
**Timeline:** None specific.  
**Characters:** Hulk, Loki, Tony, and a bit of the other Avengers. Implied Hulk/Loki because I'm crazy like that.  
**Warnings:** Un-beta-ed. Cracky crack crack! The crackiest of crack alerts! Also, possible brain bleach required.  
**Summary: **The Avengers don't appreciate Hulk. Especially Tony. But guess who does...?

So… this kind of hit me out of the blue at work, and I had no choice but to put down the resultant cracky images for posterity's sake. Then obviously I had to include some Hulk/Loki, because I see it _all the time_ at a certain kinkmeme, and because why not? (I don't ship it, but in this case it was impossible to resist. I blame it on tiredness.)

What a way to start off the fic-fest, eh? (I apologize in advance.)

Side note: my nickname for this pairing (you know how shippers have thematic couple names, like Frostiron?) is "Frozen Vegetables." Because Hulk is a green giant, and Loki is a frost giant, and together this makes me think of frozen peas. (This is also the source of my Camp NaNo cabin name, thus proving that I do in fact have the Best. Cabin. Ever.)

* * *

**Prompt:** Not so much prompted, but inspired by one of my NaNo cabinmates. _"… Or the obvious 'Hulk taking anger management classes'. And I do mean Hulk there, it's no fun if Bruce is the one taking the classes."_ Clearly, I took this as a challenge.

* * *

"Hulk not happy," the big guy stated.

Tony, clad in full Iron Man armor and backed up by the Avengers, sighed and risked patting the Hulk's massive arm. "I know, green bean. I know."

The giant's unhappy look made him withdraw that hand quickly.

"Hulk not want to change!" he raged, slamming a fist down on (and subsequently breaking) the coffee table. Luckily, this dingy room in HQ had been selected just for such a purpose, and Tony felt no grief in seeing the ugly '50s piece destroyed.

"I know, big guy. I know," Tony said supportively. "But you're kind of a loose cannon, you've gotta admit." Not that Tony was sorry to see the tacky '50s table go—this dingy room in the back of SHIELD HQ had been selected for just such a purpose, after all—but it was the principle of the thing. "The collateral damage is just too much for SHIELD's budget. Fury insisted that we… well, _help you out_ I guess."

Tony conveniently forgot to mention his _own_ wild destructive tendencies, which Fury had berated him for not an hour ago. Even so, Hulk frowned suspiciously, and Tony couldn't help but wonder just how smart the big guy actually was.

He swiftly changed the subject.

"Anywho, you've got the best counselors available! …Us!" Tony gestured to the gathered Avengers, flashing his best charming grin.

Hulk was not amused. "You not psychiatrist."

Tony's grin fought to stay alive. "Well, no. Okay. So maybe Fury didn't say that _we_ should do it, exactly. But we still—"

"Hulk not a game," the giant frowned. "Not here for your fun. You take Hulk serious."

Tony looked to the other Avengers for support. They remained silent, clearly not interested in the least. His grin fizzled and died.

Tony sighed. "Look. Hulk," he leveled. "I don't really want to do this either. But billionaire philanthropist or no, I still have to—" Choke. "—answer to the boss, and—" Gag. "—do what he says. On occasion. Like right now." Tony looked away with a pained grimace.

Lord, but Fury had threatened to send him to AA! He just couldn't do it.

A hint of Bruce showed through when the Hulk repeated, firmly; "Stark is not psychiatrist. Stark visits them."

"Yes, exactly!" Tony exclaimed in frustration. "I've had therapy more times than I want to count. I've seen how it works from the inside! And, y'know, I am a genius, so it shouldn't be too hard to deconstruct their methods and apply them to you—AND!" He rushed on at Hulk's scowl. "And we've got Steve with us, who hides the sensitive soul of an artist beneath that patriotic red, white and blue exterior—" Steve froze awkwardly, managing a slight smile and wave. "—Natasha, who practically psychoanalyzes people for a living—" Natasha just nodded. "—Clint, who is full of juicy issues, just like you!—" Clint scowled, struck by the feeling that he'd been insulted. "—and, and Thor! Who has all kinds of experience with crazy people! I mean, just look at his family." Thor's frown was deep and full of disapproval.

Tony fought bravely on; "Look at all the experience between us. I mean, we're set. With a team like this, how can we _not_ make great therapists?"

No-one spoke.

Hulk stared, not moving.

Tony shifted awkwardly, keeping up his broad, fake smile with incredible effort. His teammates' silence was not helping his case. He could feel the fate of his alcoholism hanging in the balance.

Suddenly, the assorted Avengers found themselves frozen, unable to move a muscle—all except Hulk, who just blinked.

"Well, Tony Stark, that wasn't a very nice thing to say," came a familiar (if disembodied) voice. "Thor's family is not _entirely_ composed of lunatics. Frigga is not so bad." Then he appeared from the shadows, smirking with an obvious air of satisfaction. If the Avengers could glare from within their bindings, they surely would have—for the man was none other than Loki.

The Hulk was unfazed. In fact, he eyed the trickster with a distinct predatory air. "Puny god. You back."

Loki summoned a wingback chair for himself and sat down. "The one and only," he said with a self-deprecating smile.

Hulk shifted, scratching his chin. "Why you back?"

"Why, for you, of course!" Loki beamed.

"…Give real reason."

The god was not dissuaded by Hulk's frown, nor by the gazes of the other Avengers fixed roughly in his general direction. He stretched languidly in his chair, crossing his legs and tenting his hands in front of his face. "For once, my big green friend, I am not lying. I came simply because I wished to help you."

"Hulk no need help." The giant's frown deepened.

"Oh, but you do," Loki insisted. "These fellows seek to change you, while I, on the other hand, like you perfectly well just the way you are."

Hulk blinked at this. "You… like Hulk?"

"Yes, of course. Why not?"

The green man was confused. "But Hulk smash you."

"Yes. I've always been a bit of a masochist," Loki grinned.

"Hulk not smart like Bruce."

"This is true. And indeed, Bruce is a fine mortal—I admire his mind," Loki agreed. "But you… amuse me. You remind me somewhat of my brother." His look at that was disturbingly intense, though this went unnoticed by the only non-frozen Avenger. The rest would have flinched, if they could, at his leer.

Inside his prison, Thor shuddered and preened at the same time.

"Hulk much bigger than you," the giant tried again, sounding hesitant. To prove this, he stretched up and out to his full, intimidating size.

Loki's grin only widened. "I _know_," he practically purred. "I like that."

Were the Avengers not imprisoned, they would have boggled in horror at Loki's blatant seductiveness. Hulk missed the implication, though, and just nodded, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. He hunched back down to his normal posture, scratching his head.

Finally, he said in a very quiet voice: "People no like Hulk."

"They don't like me much, either." Loki's expression at this was utterly serious.

That was enough to finally sway the not-so-jolly green giant.

The Avengers could only stare on helplessly as Hulk turned to frown at them—moreso Tony, really—and walked pointedly over to Loki's chair. "Loki appreciate Hulk," he said over his shoulder. "Hulk no like you now. Go with him instead."

He turned to look at Tony. "Hulk especially no like you."

Loki smirked broadly.

Then, just like that, with a mocking bow and a gesture from the trickster, they were gone.

The Avengers were freed from their prisons, but could only stare with assorted expressions of disbelief. Except that Natasha actually looked sort of relieved… and Steve seemed vaguely sad… and Clint was indifferent. And Thor was smiling like he'd just finished a sappy romance novel, which was just wrong.

Okay, so maybe it was just Tony who was shocked—but dammit, he was shocked enough for all five of them!

"What the hell just happened?" he demanded, spinning around in a frustrated circle. The other Avengers had no answer.

Thor stared at the place where his brother had been with a vaguely wistful smile. "Loki has found a new love."

At that, the Avengers (finally) assembled, fixing the Thunder God with matching disturbed stares. Thor said nothing, but chuckled as if at some inside joke.

Silently, the Avengers vowed never to discuss Loki's love life again.

Tony had no clue how he was going to explain this to Fury in a way that _wouldn't_ get him sent to AA. But one thing was for certain: poor Bruce was in for a shock when he woke up.

**THE END.**  
(or is it?)


	2. God of Lies

**The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

**Title:** God of Lies  
**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort  
**Rating:** T (some dark themes)  
**Timeline:** Mid-Avengers.  
**Characters:** Loki and Clint. Possible Loki/Clint if you tilt your head.  
**Warnings: **Un-beta-ed. Minor Avengers spoilers.  
**Summary:** This is the only time that Clint will ever see him break down.

Technically not part of my 50k for Camp, but I had posted this to Norsekink earlier. From there: "Thank you, Anon… I loved this prompt so much that I had to fill it twice! Here's the first of two fills: horrible, horrible angst."

* * *

**Prompt:** _"__That awkward moment when you're a brainwashed minion and your affection-starved evil master keeps wanting to _cuddle._" (From Norsekink.)  
_

* * *

The Trickster God's eyes are strangely haunted, filled with a bone-deep sadness. Clint expects tears to well up at any moment, and an echoing surge of emotion sears through him at the sight.

Some part of Clint is aware that this is all fabricated. That tiny, unchained piece of him in the far back corner of his mind—that part is aware, and knows that it's being manipulated. It knows that the staff's magic has seeped into him, his brain and body, and is conjuring up these emotions via complex neurochemical reactions. That part of him is more than a little pissed off.

But the vast majority of Clint is, quite simply, unable to care.

As if Loki were his oldest and dearest friend, the sight of those lost eyes brings emotions bubbling up into his chest unbidden.

Never would the Avengers see Loki so defeated. Somehow, Clint knows this to be true. Loki is far too proud to have anyone witness him in such a state, even were he to lose. Even if he were left fallen and humiliated, his desperate plans crashing around his ears like all the rest of his dreams—even if he were to fail, _again_, as Loki knows must inevitably happen, for doesn't it always?—even _then _he would never see himself reduced to such patheticness as this.

And Clint knows the root of that fragile pride, just as surely as he knows his own name. Just as surely as he knows Loki's fears, and rage, and jealousy, and his hatred of the blue skin lurking just beneath that careful illusion.

No… the sight of Loki like this—with his head buried in his hands, gripping frantically at his hair as he fights with his emotions—this is not a sight that Loki would ever allow anyone to see.

But here with Clint—with Clint, who is _mind-controlled_ into loving him, and isn't that sad?—here with Clint, Loki is free to be weak. Free to break down, and to cry, as he finally does now when he can contain it no longer. Because Clint _has_ to care, and Loki _cannot _be rejected again—not here, not by Clint. Not so long as the magic keeps hold.

And even in that far-back corner of Clint's mind, he can't help but to feel kinda sorry for the guy.

For once, Clint's mind is in perfect agreement with itself as he steps closer, weaving warm arms around Loki's shoulders. The god goes completely still. "Shh," Clint whispers. "C'mere. It's alright. I've got you."

And after a moment, Loki relaxes—and then he leans desperately into the touch, wanting. And magic or no, by God, Clint means every word he says.

"It's okay. You're safe now."


	3. Cuddlebear

**The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

**Title:** Cuddlebear  
**Genre:** Humor  
**Rating:** M (for Clint's mouth)  
**Timeline:** Mid-Avengers.  
**Characters:** Loki and Clint.  
**Warnings:** Un-beta-ed. Minor Avengers spoilers.  
**Summary: **He's an assassin for cryin' out loud!

The second of two fills for this prompt. Pure crack.

* * *

**Prompt:** _"__That awkward moment when you're a brainwashed minion and your affection-starved evil master keeps wanting to _cuddle._" (From Norsekink.)  
_

* * *

Clint has gotten kind of sick of Loki's… clinginess.

Frankly, to be honest, it's grown kind of disturbing.

Loki is a fuckin' _god _for crying out loud! He shouldn't well up with tears and sob every other moment. And Clint is a trained assassin, not some… some… cuddly stuffed animal!

He's a trained assassin. A stone-cold killer. If Loki hadn't mind-controlled him, that bitch would be _dead_ right now.

(Or so Clint likes to tell himself, anyway.)

But Loki is depressed again, and fixing him with those big green puppy-dog eyes… and, despite himself, whether due to mind-control or just the power of that soulful stare, Clint melts. "Aw, c'mere, you," he sighs affectionately, opening his arms in invitation.

Loki whimpers. Then, Clint suspects, _teleports _because he's there so goddamned fast, and is he sobbing…?

Yes. Yes, he is.

Pulling the teary-eyed Prince into a warm hug, Clint smiles, barely resisting the urge to give him a brotherly noogie.

Because, weeping into his shoulder or no, Loki _is_ still a god… and he _can _still kick Clint's ass at a moment's notice.

Clint smirks, chuckling to himself. "There, there." He pats Loki on the head. "It'll be alright. Hawky's here."


	4. Sweet and Icy

**The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

Title: Sweet and Icy  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Rating:** T (language, slashiness)  
**Timeline:** Vaguely post-Avengers.  
**Characters:** Loki and Tony. Loki/Tony.  
**Warnings:** No real plot. Slashy romance, particularly at the end. Vaguely stream-of-consciousness (I blame Tony). Oh, and shameless fluff.  
**Summary:** Of all the things on God's green earth, Tony never would've expected Loki to be afraid of ice-cream.

Based on an idea which came to me at work, and which bit me one evening and wouldn't leave me alone until I had written it. Done pretty much in one sitting; entirely un-beta-ed. Still has remnants of that "first draft charm," with such gems as "since then, stuff has happened somehow," and references to Star Wars and the X-Men.

It's unpolished, and I like it. So… enjoy. :D

* * *

**Prompt:** _"__Loki and ice-cream. Possibly a crippling phobia. Because reasons. Also, Loki has a sweet tooth, because this seems popular in fandom for some reason."  
_

* * *

Loki is visiting a coffee shop in downtown Manhattan, enjoying a mocha cappuccino during one of his non-villainous moments. Suddenly, in between eyeing a newspaper with amusement and looking up to stare creepily at passers-by, he finds that he has been joined by Tony Stark, who sits down licking an ice-cream cone as if this is not at all an unusual or frowned upon occurrence.

At Loki's repeated blinking, Tony looks up, blinks a few times himself, and says "Hey." He then promptly returns to his ice-cream cone, ignoring his arch-enemy. Loki eyes the mortal suspiciously. Then he eyes the ice-cream even _more_ suspiciously, liking it even less than he does the illustrious Man of Iron.

He does not fear Tony Stark—not even when he is _in_ his suit, much less when he is out of it. And Loki loves sweets, it must be admitted. But this human creation known as 'ice-cream' leaves him with a deeply unsettled feeling, and he does not care to examine why. To do so would be to admit to a weakness far greater than a simple sweet tooth.

Briefly, he considers blasting Stark through a wall, before deciding against it. That would ruin his day off, and he hasn't even finished his drink yet. Or maybe if he turned the ice-cream into something different… Loki eyes the treat consideringly for a long moment. But no, Stark is enjoying it too much. He would surely get upset, and then do something rash, thus ruining Loki's fun in much the same manner.

The mortal still has not acknowledged him beyond that initial greeting. Loki does not find this at all off-putting. Instead, he simply accepts the strange truce for the moment, returning to his people-watching (read: creepy staring) and enjoying the simple pleasure of his flavored beverage.

Once Stark finishes his ice-cream, he buys a coffee and joins in the people-watching.

All in all, it is a strangely pleasant afternoon.

—

That was months ago, and since then, Tony and Loki have somehow entered into a relationship. Neither is entirely certain how it came to pass, except that Tony kept popping up during Loki's downtime, and somewhere along the line Loki stopped minding quite so much. Now it's more or less accepted that one of them will seek the other out when they're not out saving the world, or wreaking havoc in the same—which, all things considered, Loki isn't doing quite so much as he used to. They will banter, or complain to each other, or talk, or have mind-blowing sex, or just hang out. Loki will smartly avoid mentioning any of his schemes. And if anyone in SHIELD questions Tony on his relationship, he'll just say "I'm Tony Stark" and the subject will be dropped.

Nobody questions the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist. Especially when he's dating a god.

It is during one of these down moments in Tony's penthouse—just hanging out, not having mind-blowing sex, to Tony's regret—that Tony first notices Loki's… well. He'd call it a phobia, but then Loki would set his underwear on fire, so let's just call it an "issue." Because it's not like Loki doesn't have a million of those already. This time, though, the issue has less to do with bad parenting or macho warrior stereotypes, and more to do with_ ice-cream_.

Tony hadn't known this until he offered the god some Ben & Jerry's to go with their action movie (because why not?), after which Loki promptly freaked out. (Well… freaked out by his standards. Which basically meant he went very stiff and glared psychotically at the carton of deliciousness in question.) Tony, wary of having his entertainment center destroyed again, had carefully eased the ice-cream back into the freezer, watching as Loki incrementally relaxed.

"Okay. No Karamel Sutra, then," he had concluded, once it was clear no destruction was imminent.

Loki had just frowned, begging with his eyes—no, wait, _demanding_ with his eyes, because Loki never begged—that Tony drop the subject. So Tony had.

And that was the last he thought about it…

Until right now.

Because they're at the coffee shop again, and dammit, Tony _likes_ ice-cream with his coffee.

The treat (from a cute little place just down the corner) is delicious. Having Loki eye him like he's the spawn of Satan is just the cherry on top—and that's saying something, because Tony got a sundae this time, and it actually _has_ a cherry on top of it. Loki's look is even better than that. Tony savors the god's discomfort, taking his time assembling the _perfect_ bite of sundae which he lifts languidly to his mouth, watching Loki's eye twitch; he swirls it in front of his mouth before pausing, raising a pointed eyebrow.

Loki scowls at the display. "If you keep this up, there will be no kissing in your future."

"Keep what up? The ice-cream or the teasing?"

"Both," Loki grumbles. He sips his drink (hazelnut cappuccino this time) in an obvious attempt to distract himself from Tony's new favorite pastime.

Tony's other eyebrow raises to join the first. Abruptly, he shoves the spoon towards Loki, interrupting him; he's almost amused when the god literally scoots his chair back to get away.

Almost. Except this "issue" has been bugging him ever since that time in the penthouse.

"What's your deal?" Tony muses out loud, finally eating the spoonful of ice-cream. He rolls it around in his mouth, savoring the flavor, but keeping his eye on Loki as the other flinches slightly.

"I… have issues with the cold," Loki says after a long moment.

Tony almost snorts. Issues. Right. Of course. He takes another bite of sundae.

Tony has noticed, on occasion—usually when it's freezing outside; like, _freeze-your-ass-off_ weather—how Loki always shies away from contact with the cold. At first Tony had just assumed he didn't like winter, which the billionaire could sympathize with well enough. But then, every so often, Loki would slip up or forget—maybe he'd grab a cold handrail, or catch a face full of snow—and Tony would get a brief glimpse of… well. To put it bluntly: of blue skin. At least until Loki realized, and recoiled abruptly in an effort to hide it. Tony, being the genius that he is—and a curious bastard besides—obviously couldn't help but make the connection with ice-cream…

And now he finds himself wondering: just what the hell was that about, anyway?

Tony takes an idle bite of sundae, wincing abruptly as he realizes it's too big—but too late to save him from the resultant brain-freeze. The headache that follows is terrible, and the self-proclaimed superhero makes a wordless sound of protest, slamming a hand against his forehead.

Loki eyes him in amusement, sipping his cappuccino.

Tony glares half-heartedly, finally managing to swallow, before sighing. He pushes his sundae away, no longer feeling it. "Look," he says seriously, knowing that this will grab Loki's attention. "I know you've got some kind of… ice-y, magic-y thing going on. And honestly? I don't give a shit if you're blue. I just want to know what the big deal is, and why you won't _tell_ me about it," he finishes with far more enthusiasm than he'd originally intended.

Tony doesn't know when this turned from "ice-cream" into "you've been hiding things from me," but hell, he won't argue. Not when Loki sighs and flinches like he just did, indicating that it really _is_ that big a problem.

Frowning slightly, Tony scoots his chair around until they're side-by-side, taking Loki's hand in both of his like this was a cheesy romantic movie. He then eyes him very seriously from over their clasped hands. "It's okay," he says, with utmost gravity. "You can talk to me. I won't disown you just 'cause you're blue."

As expected, Loki can't help smirking at the absurdity of it. "_Truly_?"

"I solemnly swear," Tony replies gravely, before he can no longer keep from grinning. He scoots back, dropping Loki's hand as the other glares fondly. "So, spill. What's with the color-changing thing? I'd like to know if I'm sleeping with a mood ring or something."

Though he obviously doesn't get the reference, judging from his raised eyebrow, Loki nonetheless sighs with the appropriate combination of exasperation and annoyance. "If I asked you just to drop it, would you?" he asks with typical wryness.

"Not a chance." Tony doesn't even hesitate.

Loki seems to have expected that. Which, if he knows Tony at all, he damn well should've. He nods, smiling—but falsely, and with a hint of resignation, which sucks any potential satisfaction out of Tony's victory. "Very well. I will explain it to you."

Tony opens his mouth.

"Later," Loki adds.

Tony shuts his mouth obediently. He nods. Then he goes back to eating his ice-cream, clamping down on his burning curiosity, smothering any further questions with bites of delicious sundae instead.

Because he and Loki are a lot alike—it's the reason that they _work_—and they haven't come this far by having no respect for each others' boundaries.

—

Still, once Loki finally lets him in on "the big secret," Tony will admit to being a little underwhelmed.

"Okay, so you look a little like Nightcrawler," Tony says flatly. "What's the big deal?"

They are back in Tony's penthouse, with Tony seated comfortably on the couch and Loki standing in front of him, having just done some complicated magic-y… thing. And Loki might be kind of hard to recognize at a glance, what with all the _red eyes_ and the _blue-ness_ and the _sharp teeth_ and the _lines_—what are those anyway, Asgardian wrinkles?—but really, once you look closer, not that much has changed. Like the fact that, whether his eyes are red or blue-green, Tony could recognize the glare being leveled his way from a mile away and with sunglasses. Which he knows, because that has happened.

All of this basically adding up to mean: he doesn't get what the big deal is.

Loki continues to glare, however. His unhappy look doesn't diminish, only enhanced by the hint of sharp teeth, and Tony sighs.

"Alright, fine," the billionaire concedes reluctantly. "I'm sorry for the Nightcrawler comment. That was kind of rude, seeing as you're upset and all." He pats the couch beside him, scooting over to make room, and watches as Loki sits down primly, acting very much like an offended cat—or, truth be told, like Loki. Not much changed, despite his blue-ness.

"I mean, it's just…" Tony trails off. He eyes his offended lover in frustration. "Look, I'm obviously not getting it. There's a 'big deal' here somewhere, I'm sure, but I'm just not seeing what it is—or what it is I did wrong—or why you're upset over what is, really, kind of an attractive look for you. Like, I mean… you know Star Wars? The EU? Admiral Thrawn is kind of hot, in his own way, yeah?" Tony is floundering now, but keeps running his mouth anyway like he usually does. He doubts Loki even gets the reference, but that doesn't stop Tony going off on a whole tangent about Chiss masterminds and how their evilness is kind of sexy.

Then Loki breaks eye contact, which he _never_ does—and Tony abruptly realizes, with enough force that it makes him stop talking.

Loki isn't offended.

He's uncomfortable.

Tony blinks, completely taken aback by this unprecedented situation. Because, sure, Loki has been uncomfortable before—except no, he hasn't. It's completely unheard of in their time together! He has been moody, nervous, awkward, closed-off, angry, resigned, flustered, and certainly _depressed_ before; he has shown varying degrees of skepticism or disgust for situations; and, yes, he has been hesitant at times. But uncomfortable? In the sense of being deeply unsettled; ill-at-ease in his own skin?

…No. That's never happened. Not to Loki.

Only now it is, and Tony is kind of shocked. Just how deep does this "issue" of his run?

"Okay," the genius says, slowly coming to terms with this totally world-changing perspective. He'll have to adjust his angle of attack. "Okay. So, I take it being blue is… _bad_ on Asgard…?" He trails off hesitantly.

Loki shoots him a guarded, hostile glance—but seems to relax slightly at Tony's honest bafflement. The god sags back against the couch, muttering under his breath. "Yes."

"Okay," Tony repeats. "So it's bad. And… why is it bad, exactly?" Lord, he feels like a therapist.

Loki seems to be thinking the same thing, because he smirks humorlessly. "I am a Jötunn. A Frost Giant."

Tony just nods.

"One of the sworn enemies of Asgard," the trickster adds.

"Uh-huh."

"My birth father incited war against Odin, resulting in countless deaths on both sides."

"Yeah…?"

Loki sighs at Tony's lack of comprehension. "Jötunn are _hated_," he clarifies. The mortal enemies of our entire people. If I were back home and in this form, I would be shunned. They would see me as a monster." This last is said with surprising matter-of-factness.

…Ah.

And it is that, more than anything, that makes Tony understand. The matter-of-factness. He nods slowly in understanding, recalling the same matter-of-factness with which he had once said "my dad's an alcoholic"—as if he didn't care. As if that was just how things were.

And it _was_ how things were, that was true… but that didn't mean that he didn't care.

"So, they're racists basically," Tony sums up, just to see if he's reading the situation right. Loki shrugs and nods with deceptive casualness.

"Yes. But our races have been at war for centuries," he says, as if that explains it.

Tony nods as well, because maybe it does.

Then again, maybe not.

"Does Thor know?" Is his next question.

Loki nods again, but remains silent.

"…Does he care?"

A pause. Then another deceptively casual shrug.

So. Loki doesn't know if his brother hates him or not. Figures. Tony sighs in exasperation at the pair of idiots, wishing someone would just bash their heads together already… or maybe lock them in a room so they'd have no choice but to talk it out. That would be fun. Brother-on-brother showdown.

"So, Thor knows, and you don't know if he cares," Tony recites, ticking off points his fingers. "I'm guessing your parents know, since, well, they _raised_ you. I don't care if Asgard knows… the Avengers probably don't… and now I know, too," he concludes.

"Yes to all of the above."

"Well… why is it such a big deal?" Tony finally blurts, unable to resist asking any longer. "I'm sorry, but why? I mean, they may be racist against blue people on Asgard—and, I dunno, good reason or not, whatever, I don't really care—but you _know_ that that prejudicial shit _will not fly_ here on Earth. So why not just tell me earlier and get it over with? It'd save me wondering what your deal was with cold things," Tony adds in exasperation.

Loki's expression has turned wry over the course of Tony's questioning, and now he sits with his chin cradled in his hand. "You seem upset over this."

"I am!" Tony exclaims. "All this mystery and intrigue over the fact that you aren't human—except, oh wait! You weren't in the first place! Do you know how much time I wasted trying to figure this thing out? I mean, why the hell should _I_ care if you're a Frost Giant?" Loki looks amused at his frustration, but really, Tony is kind of pissed. "With the weird ice-cream phobia thing, and that time I threw a snowball at you and you had a frickin' panic attack…" Tony will not soon forget that. It goes down as one of the awkwardest dates he's ever had. "You _broke_ my fucking _wrist_, damn it! I was turning my brain over trying to solve the mystery—what is it, is it some magic thing? An infection? Are you allergic to icicles?—and here it turns out you're just a slightly different species of non-human! Talk about your letdowns."

Tony sighs in exaggerated frustration, while Loki finally gives in and starts laughing at him. The mischievous twinkle that Tony so loves is back in his still-red eyes, and inwardly, Tony grins.

If he were the type to make bad puns, he'd say that he had successfully "broken the ice" on this issue.

And of course he is, so he does.

The electric shock that Loki gives him is well-deserved. It also does funny things to his Arc Reactor, making him shudder sweetly. Grinning, he edges closer—and damn if Loki isn't cold as a popsicle, though that doesn't stop Tony curling up beside him on the couch. Frost Giant, he reminds himself obviously. "Ah, you know I love you anyways," Tony says, with the air of one making a great concession. "Even if you zap me or break my wrist or keep stupid secrets… even if you're blue."

"I know," Loki says simply.

And the seriousness of it makes Tony squirm abruptly in discomfort.

Loki grins, displaying a flash of sharp teeth. Yet another reason why they work so well, Tony supposes; Loki (damn him) always reads the sincerity behind his jokes, and tends to call him on it.

"Yeah, well," he mutters, knowing when he's been had.

Loki chuckles. "Fear not," he promises; "I will tell no-one of your secret."

Tony just tilts his head and grins. He doesn't have to speak aloud for Loki to know that the sentiment is returned, and knowledge of that fact makes him feel strangely badass.

They lapse into a comfortable silence then, cuddled on the couch, with Tony staring at Loki's cheek and Loki slowly relaxing into his own skin, growing more comfortable that Tony will not suddenly reject his new form. Eventually Tony raises a hand to poke at the lines on Loki's face, humming interestedly when he discovers that they're smooth. Some type of birthmark, maybe? Maybe unique to him—like a fingerprint. He traces them idly, Loki allowing his exploration without comment.

After a while of this, Loki shifts to look at him, his expression turning thoughtful. Tony meets his gaze attentively.

"It is not that I feared your reaction, necessarily," the god mutters, more to himself than to Tony. "I knew precisely what you would think. I knew I had no reason to doubt." Loki hesitates. "It is merely… _difficult_ to counteract a lifetime of being told something. Even if you know it to be untrue." He ends in a whisper.

Tony nods. This, too, is something that he understands.

But there is an uncertainty inherent to the words that he sees in Loki's eyes; a question—it _is_ untrue, isn't it?—which he can't stand, so he quells it with a slow, soft kiss. One that speaks of the depth of his feeling, even if he can't bring himself to say the words aloud without disguising them as a joke. One that is not entirely chaste, which is very careful of these newly found sharp teeth.

Loki's lips are pliant, if not necessarily warm, and when Tony pulls back he exhales mist. The sight makes him laugh quietly.

"Laughing at me, are we?" Loki purrs, eyes still closed in contentment.

Tony grins satisfiedly. "Hmm… maybe. Portable air conditioner. Maybe I should market you to the masses."

The trickster growls, and Tony laughs again as he finds himself pinned by a deceptively strong, very seductive god. Loki stares down at him intently, the heat in his red gaze making all manner of pleasant things happen in the region of Tony's stomach.

Then he sees green begin to edge in around the god's irises.

Realizing that Loki is changing back to a more human-like appearance, Tony arches up to press his lips against a cold throat. "Don't," he says, voice rough.

He feels Loki hesitate.

To make his point more clear, Tony frees one hand and traces it lightly over Loki's suddenly uncertain expression. Then he flips them over so that he can press down into Loki, bringing them closer; touching more of him; reaching under clothing to explore ice-cold skin. "Stay like this," he whispers, mouth brushing Loki's ear. "I want you to." He nips lightly to make his point.

And Loki does.

At the sudden hitch in his lover's breath, Tony traces Loki's face again, watching as the god's eyes flit closed. But those red eyes are mesmerizing, and he can still envision them long afterwards. His fingers caress the lines which run down Loki's cheek; down the line of his neck; across his collar-bone. Then he dips to follow the trail with his mouth, suddenly eager—to map his skin—to see what he tastes like. To find out if it's any different.

Tony likes Loki like this, he decides, even more than ice-cream. There's so much new about him to explore.

And judging from the sounds he makes, Loki likes it, too.


	5. Giant Killer

**The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

**Title:** Giant-Killer  
**Genre:** General/Humor  
**Rating:** K  
**Timeline:** AU-ish from Thor.  
**Characters:** Thor, Loki and a random Asgardian.  
**Warnings: **Un-beta-ed. Fluff. Thor spoilers, but if you haven't seen Thor then what the heck are you doing reading this?  
**Summary: **Some of Thor's old titles just don't apply any more.

So there I was, reading a fic by silverlynxcat over at the Norsekink meme, when I literally had to stop and do a double-take. This line stood out to me and made me go "oh hells naw!" (in a good way), and I had no choice but to write about it. :)

Set in a vaguely-AU Asgard where Loki didn't go crazy.

Also: thanks for all your story alerts and favorites! I appreciate them, even if you don't review. (I'm a lurker myself.)

* * *

**Prompt:** _"Hail Thor! Killer of giants, most fearless of men!"_

* * *

"Hail Thor! Killer of giants, most fearless of men!" The warrior shouted joyously. He raised his flagon in a salute to Thor's victory.

While the rest of the Hall cheered, Thor caught his brother's narrow-eyed look and frowned. He pulled the warrior aside with a careful hand, bowing his head to speak privately.

"Friend," he said, "while I appreciate the sentiment... no."

The man blinked confusedly, mead still half-raised in honor.

"You cannot call me that any more," Thor continued. "Especially in my brother's presence. Strike the title from your memory completely. Just... don't use it. I know that it is well-meant, and I suppose deserved—I know that I was fairly well known for—but no," he cuts himself off. "It matters not any longer. Do not call me that, ever again. At any point in the future. At all."

The warrior blinked again. "But—"

"On pain of death," Thor added.

"But you're the giant-ki—"

"Never." Thor patted the man's shoulder with a cheerful smile, ignoring the resultant confused look. "That's a good man. You just remember that, all right?"

The warrior hesitantly nodded. Thor, aware of his brother's gaze on them, widened his smile with incredible effort. "Spread the word to your friends, too. No more Thor the Giant-Killer! ...In fact, I'm thinking of starting a new treaty with the Frost Giants. They really are quite misunderstood creatures, not far different from ourselves—"

Still talking, Thor led the man away with an arm over his shoulders, steering him into a crowd of other soldiers and getting him set up with a boar's leg and a new flagon of mead. The man was so befuddled that he didn't even protest, silently following along as Thor changed the subject from Jötnar to snow to spring to vacationing in Álfheimr.

A few minutes later, the whole speech had been thoroughly forgotten in the wake of good cheer and strong alcohol.

Thor dropped back into his chair with a heavy sigh. Things had become so much more complicated when he learned that Loki was adopted.

Loki looked at him and shook his head. "You're an idiot."

Thor just grinned.


	6. Letters

******The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

**Title:** Letters  
**Genre:** General  
**Rating:** K  
**Timeline:** Modern AU-ish.  
**Characters:** Loki and Thor (indirectly).  
**Warnings:** Un-beta-ed and only lightly edited. No real plot? Unabashedly angsty? IDK.  
**Summary:** Loki does not miss home, and he most assuredly does not miss Thor. He makes no comment as to the letters.

So, there's this fantastic pic on Tumblr by westishere of Thor and Loki. That pic inspired feels. Those feels inspired fanfic. This fanfic is un-beta-ed, and only lightly edited, so forgive me if it sucks… but I had no choice. I BLAME THE FEELS!

(Seriously: none of my stuff is beta-ed, but this is the single most un-beta-ed thing that I have ever written. I'm not even kidding you. I didn't even reread it _myself_, that is how first draft this crap is. The feels THE FEELS I'm telling you.)

* * *

**Prompt:**_ "____Every day a letter of love I would write to you. …When will you write back to me? …When will you return to me?"_

* * *

They come, like clockwork, every Tuesday.

Loki can only imagine what lengths Thor goes to to ensure such a precise schedule; he had never been so meticulous before. Thor was always a bundle of agitated chaos, unable to plan, even when the tasks were important to him. This is very unlike the Thor that Loki knows.

Still, the fact remains that, every Tuesday, Loki opens his mail to another letter, each as crisp and white and perfect as the last.

Perhaps he doesn't know Thor very well after all.

—

The first letter arrived a mere week after he left. Back then, it had been a great surprise.

Loki had not told anyone that he was leaving. He himself had scarcely known until he was gone. Slipping away unnoticed, he had left no trace, nor any means by which they could contact him. He had taken little, and regretted…

Nothing. He had regretted nothing.

By all accounts, it had been a clean break. Certainly a long time in coming. But that very next Tuesday—no sooner than he had found lodgings, in fact—he received his first letter in the mail, and they continued coming even when he didn't respond.

Loki still doesn't know how Thor got his address. Tony, maybe?

He doubts they will stop, though, if they haven't yet. Today it will have been a year.

—

Loki wakes that morning, showers, and then sets about brewing his customary pot of tea. He has become a creature of habit since moving in with Stark. Once the kettle is boiling, he checks the mail and sorts through it with a feeling of dread that he will never acknowledge.

_Magazine, magazine, advert, bill…_

There.

Loki's fist clenches around the letter. Simultaneously, something in his chest relaxes.

He sets it aside, then turns to finish making his tea.

—

Later, that letter joins the others in his closet, unopened. The pile is growing quite large.

Loki never reads them, but nor can he quite bear to throw them away.

—

The Tuesday after that does not bring a letter. It arrives instead on Wednesday, the postman apologizing for the delay when Loki meets him at the door, snatching the mail from his hands and combing through it.

There.

He will never admit to exhaling in relief at the realization that this was not another of Thor's failures.

Just a fluke. That's all it was. Just a fluke.

—

That letter does not find its way into the closet. Instead, Loki lays it out on the counter and stares at it intently.

He stares at it all week before finally stowing it away with the others.

—

Next Tuesday, another letter arrives like clockwork… and what does it matter to him anyways if Thor writes? It's not like he ever reads them. Or replies.

—

That evening, Loki stares at his unread mail with a damnable tightness in his throat, and thinks back on all the things that made him leave. The favoritism. The lies. The constant degradation. Thor's consistent failure to meet even the lowest of his expectations.

Slowly, his fingers inch toward the envelope until they are just barely brushing its edge.

Fifty-two. That is the amount of letters Thor has sent him, including this one.

Maybe if he keeps ignoring it, he will stop.

—

Loki opens the letter.

—

_Dear Loki,_

_I miss you, brother…._

**The End**


	7. Man Out of Time

**The Prompt Fic of Mischief**

**Title:** Man Out of Time**  
Genre:** General  
**Rating:** T (for Tony)  
**Timeline:** Post-Avengers.  
**Characters:** Tony and Steve, with mentions of Happy and a random waitress.  
**Warnings:** Un-beta-ed. Could be Stony if you squint. Benefits from having seen Captain America.  
**Summary:** Sometimes Steve gets this lost look, and Tony doesn't like it. So he decides to fix it.

What do you know, I'm still working on these things. :P

As a break from my _other_ NaNo project (a Thor AU fic), I've come back to these unfinished prompts, and thus you may be seeing more in the near future. For now: here's a slightly Stony-ish oneshot to break up all the Loki.

* * *

**Prompt: **"_Write about an old-fashioned diner. Describe the atmosphere. Does the place look retro, or more antique? Who works there? Eats there? Create a story revolving around it. Be creative!" (Tumblr writing prompt)  
_

* * *

One day when Steve is looking particularly down, Tony drags him out to an old retro diner. They're surprisingly easy to find in New York city—and anyways, he can just ask JARVIS to look and save him ten minutes of searching, so it's not like it's a big deal—but Cap seems to appreciate it nonetheless. "Looks nice," he says when they pull up, with a wistful smile.

If there's one thing you _can't_ find in New York city, though, it's a place where Tony Stark won't be recognized, and the paparazzi show up before they've even entered the restaurant.

Tony is stubborn enough that this doesn't dissuade him.

Cap has a slightly defeated look, and eyes the approaching cameras with resignation. "Maybe we should leave," he suggests—and Tony remembers that he had been superstar famous, too, back in the day. Still is. But Tony plasters on a fake smile and gestures to Happy.

"It'll be fine." He winks, confident. "They won't bother us."

He shoves open the door, and gestures for Steve to enter first. With a wry look, the soldier does, and Tony's grin when he follows verges on shit-eating.

Outside, Happy heads off the paparazzi with more firmness than you'd expect from looking at him. Meanwhile, inside, Steve has frozen in the act of looking around, and Tony eyes the place casually from behind him, pretending not to notice. It's surprisingly nice, actually. The floor is classic checkerboard, and the bar is shiny chrome with a bright red top, as he could have guessed; the jukebox is blasting some old Jazz Swing tune, and vintage ads line the walls. Tony is amused to note that some of them even feature Captain America. "Cap Salutes You!" and "Buy War Bonds Now!" and the like. Consumerism at its finest.

The girl who approaches has hair in a classic twist—all soft black curls and skimpy dress. She clearly recognizes them. Her smile seems genuine enough, though, and barely nervous. "Just two today?"

"Yeah, we left the other Avengers at home," Tony comments when Steve shows no signs of breaking out of his gawk. Peggy Sue laughs, nods and grabs two menus, and Tony follows her with his usual swagger, dragging Cap by the arm as he goes. She seats them away from the windows—good girl, Tony thinks—then smiles, promising to be with them shortly. Tony shoves Cap into a booth and flashes his best grin at her. "Thanks, hon. No need to rush."

When Tony thunks down opposite Steve, the man finally rouses enough to blink at him, watching the waitress leave and then turning to stare. Tony meets his look with a raised eyebrow.

"It's like being back in the '40s," he says.

Tony has to chuckle. "That's kind of the point, Cap."

And the smile Steve gives him then is incredible. Nothing at all like Tony's blinding, superstar grin—no, this is something warm and kind and _honest_ that Tony knows he could never quite manage. He returns it ruefully, self-deprecating, and scratches his head. "Just tell me if the food matches up, yeah? I've always wondered."

Then Steve laughs. It's about that point that Tony thinks: "this is the best idea I've ever had."

As it turns out, the food is really good. Almost on par with Shawarma. Tony orders a malt and almost chokes on it, it's so damn thick; Steve orders a root beer float and laughs again when Tony mocks him for it, because it's so damn _classic_; they both have cheeseburgers, and Tony doesn't even complain when the waitress hands the check straight to him, because Steve just smiles. Best of all, it succeeds in getting that "lost soldier" look out of Steve's eyes, which totally justifies Tony's smugness for the rest of the night, because he _called it_.

Then Happy joins them after they've ordered coffee, which puts a cherry on it all—because that puts Tony at a booth with two of his favorite people in the world, and it also means the paparazzi are gone, which is nothing short of a miracle.

They make it a habit of going every week after that.

(It turns out the waitress's name is Leanne, and she _really_ doesn't like paparazzi. Any camera-man who enters on her watch is promptly yelled out, which Steve says "reminds him of someone"; thus, she simultaneously makes the lists of Tony's _most_ and _least_ favorite people in the world, earning her a spot alongside Phil Coulson as the only two to ever manage.)


End file.
